My uncle passed away 10 days ago and I've been an inconsolable mess ever since. He was 65 and somehow managed to wring out 9 lives while burning the candle, and whatever else was handy, from every angle.
He meant so much to me and I honestly don’t know what I’d be without him.
He meant so much to me and I honestly don’t know what I’d be without him.
His name was Randall Jacobs (his friends called him RJ) but to me he was my Uncle Bunky, a.k.a. The Bunkster!
The way he talked was like some bastardized love child between a gravelly patois of wisecracks, mangled metaphors, & profane one-liners that would 86 your ass.
A living, breathing “hang loose” sign, a swaggering hybrid of Zoni desert rat, SoCal hobo, and Telluride ski bum.
A living, breathing “hang loose” sign, a swaggering hybrid of Zoni desert rat, SoCal hobo, and Telluride ski bum.
We had such a tight “don’t tell your parents we did this” vibe.
I'd go anywhere, do anything with him and I can still hear his voice through that impish smile and irreverent sense of humor, always warning me: “Just remember, little buddy. Do what Bunky say, not what Bunky do.”
I'd go anywhere, do anything with him and I can still hear his voice through that impish smile and irreverent sense of humor, always warning me: “Just remember, little buddy. Do what Bunky say, not what Bunky do.”
The only thing that overpowered his chaotic energy and hysterical charm was the gentleness of his soul.
As much I knew that hanging out with him could end with a night in jail or a world-class hangover, he was the kind of dude I would drive 8 hours at the drop of a dime to see.
As much I knew that hanging out with him could end with a night in jail or a world-class hangover, he was the kind of dude I would drive 8 hours at the drop of a dime to see.
When I asked him to pose for a 4x5 transparency to paint his portrait, he was so reserved and cavalier about it. Like he didn't know why I wanted to capture him in a dignified manner.
His friend Scott Hile, who took that incredible photo in my 1st tweet, had the same experience.
His friend Scott Hile, who took that incredible photo in my 1st tweet, had the same experience.
We talked on the phone nearly every day for the past month, when he finally asked me to fly out and say goodbye.
His beloved cat Kitters (a.k.a. The Little Dude!) had just passed away, and he knew the end was drawing near for himself.
His beloved cat Kitters (a.k.a. The Little Dude!) had just passed away, and he knew the end was drawing near for himself.
One of the last things he ever said to me, as we drank and smoked in the desert heat:
“I’m ready for the dirt nap, little buddy, but you can’t leave the party if you can’t find the door.”
“I’m ready for the dirt nap, little buddy, but you can’t leave the party if you can’t find the door.”
I paid my respects, knowing it would be the last time we’d ever hang.
The next day, just as my plane was landing back in New York, he found that door, and the party will never be the same without him.
The next day, just as my plane was landing back in New York, he found that door, and the party will never be the same without him.
He had a helluva good roll, and I’m gonna miss him so fuckin' much.
I wrote this obituary for him, which appeared in Sunday's Arizona Republic @azcentral and @TelluridePlanet.
legacy.com/obituaries/azc…
legacy.com/obituaries/azc…
It's been wild and amazing to see it pick up steam on @reddit and various obit accounts on Instagram.
I wish he could've seen all this love, but unfortunately that's not how this all works, is it?reddit.com/r/skiing/comme…
I wish he could've seen all this love, but unfortunately that's not how this all works, is it?reddit.com/r/skiing/comme…
An addendum to this thread, I wrote some stories in the comments of this post that possess a little more grit, if that's what you're hankering for:
